Colorado Federation of 'Women's Clubs 



LITERATURE DEPART^fE^]T 

Mrs. Adam Veiss, Chairman 




(Copyright applied for by Literature Dept. 
C. F. W. C.) 



?njz Winning Poems 

in the Poetry Contest 
1920 



NOV 2B 1920 



,vuf 



/ 



Cathedral Aisles 

In dim cathedral aisles 

their Souls have built. 
Weary ones do sometimes steal away 
And hide them from the garish light of day. 

Youthful dreams and fancies 
here their wings unfold, 
Here Hope dares hope, 

and Faith grows bold! 
The Soul its censer swings, 

and incense sweet fills all the air! 

To live is love — 

To breathe is prayer! 
Not long indeed they stay 
For Life, insistent, murmurs: 

"Come away." 
Oh, Lord — from storm and stress. 
Life's battle and duress — 
They do not ask release 

But only pray 
That they may never lose the way 
Into these Aisles of Peace. 



Clio Club, Pueblo, 

Martha Chappel. 



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Night in a Prairie To^n 

We live in a bare little town on the plain 

Yet we have a tree, or two, 
And even a Cottonwood's leaves are lace 

At night when the moon shines through. 

We live in a dry little town on the plain 

No marshes dewy and damp. 
Yet at night there's a hint of the will-o-the-wisp 

In each twinkling auto lamp. 

We live in a hot little town on the plain 

Summer days are a blaze of light, 
But a velvet sky with close-hung stars 

And a cool breeze, comes with night. 

The church in our good little town on the plain 

Has pillars of drab cement. 
Night turns them to marble of classic mold 

'Neath a Grecian pediment. 

Our home in the faraway town on the plain 

Lacks many things, it is true. 
But it's home of my heart when the day's work is done 

And night, my darling, brings you. 

Eound Table Club, Lamar. 

May Williams Ward. 



The Wanderer 



Oh, friend of mine, to you my thots are turning. 

The time and space have parted us, and far 
My feet have wandered, and the old love burning 

Within my heart, hasi been the guiding star 
Lighting my way; dear heart, sweet memories thronging 

Of your kind eyes so steadfast and so true 
And your unfalt'ring smile, fill me with longing 

To win back o'er the weary miles to you. 

No other hand has clasped my hand so kindly. 

No other heart has beat so warm and true, 
I looked beyond our own small world, and blindly 

I chose the path leading away from you. 
The path that traversed rugged, pine-clad mountains. 

Or wound through vales where quiet rivers flow, 
Crossed desert lands, past shadowed tropic fountains, 

Or led to treasure lands where harsh winds blow. 

Adventure called me! stout of heart and eager 

I followed where her beckoning finger lured. 
Her promises how fair, how poor and false and meager 

And her rewards for all the toil endured. 
I've journeyed far; my heart grows old and lonely, 

I face the end of life, its sunset bars. 
And my thots turn to where awaits me only 

A quiet grave beneath the brooding stars. 

L'Envoi 

Priceless, this thing the days and years have taught me 
Far hills are green, and distant valleys smile. 

But life is love, with one dear face beside us, 
One hand in ours to sweeten every mile. 

South Denver Woman's Club, 

Mrs. H. E. Corey. 



The fleece of Gold 



To Denver, the city which has ever been to me most hospitable, and to the many 
friends within her gates, this little tale of her first settler is respectfully dedicated. 



When Jason, to the strains of Orpheus' lyre, 
Straight into sunset turned enchanted prow 
And faced the fiery beasts with dauntless brow, 
He waked the slumbering spark of mad desire. 
Now, ever as the sun, with slanting ray. 
Falls on the huddled flocks that patient wait 
For folding, outside heaven's pasture-gate. 
Warming with drifted gold their coats of gray. 
The hearts of men are stirred with strange unrest — 
They still must seek the hidden fleece of gold, 
That hangs within the dragon's dreadful hold. 
There in the West, the soul-compelling West. 

When birds were nesting and the streams ran clear, 
V/ith hope of pasture greening all the land. 
In Georgia's cotton-fields men dreamed of gold 
That lay, unclaimed, within the mountain's heart; 
Like Jason's half-a-hundred heroes, bold. 
On daring quest they start. 

Late in the Spring, 
When o'er the dull brown earth was softly spread 
A robe of green, shot through with threads of rose, 
And insects whirred on busy, tremulous wing, 
A few lean Kansans joined the company. 
Tall men, sun-burned, with leathern neck and arm, 
Grim, silent men, who stopped to shift a trickling quid 
Before reply; men whom the desert could not harm. 

By day, the men moved silent, yet alert. 

To strike the coiling snake and watch for haze 

Of distant fire, to keep the beasts from hurt, 

To track the antelope and find a spot 

To camp where freshet might not overtake. 

But when the crackling fire of cottonwood 

Sent mystic circles far into the night. 

They told again the all-engrossing tales 

Of hidden gold; of cities buried from the light 

For centuries, where cheapest common dish 

Was from the precious metal cast. 



Then one 
They called "the parson" for his quiet ways, 
A story of the Spanish quest began: 

"It was a Pawnee brave first brought the tale 
Of wealth uncounted, in the North' and West, 
To colonies of Spain, routing the lust 
For gold. 

When with the rising sap the buds 
Began to swell, he led them forth, a band 
Of hardy, hopeful men. 

The summer passed; 
Along the Arkansas the fallen leaves 
Lay thick and dead, yet still no word to those 
Who waited for the pots of gold. 

One day. 
When keen and blue ujas all the autumn air, 
A crippled beggar, out of human form 
Twisted and bent by some mischance, half-blind 
With desert-glare, came to the settlement 
And begged for bread. To every question still 
He made reply, "Cibola, I have seen 
The city of the dead!" And then they knew 
Him for the piteous broken wreck of one 
Who sought the fabled city in the spring. 

No clear account of that lost caravan 
He ever gave, for something so intense 
Lay back of all the torture and despair, 
To speak of it brought madness to his brain. 

But this the tale he told of Cibola : 

"The Indian lost the trail, or else he lied; 
We wandered far afield in trackless wild 
No white man's foot had ever trod. A land 
Of desert, cut with interlacing seams 
Where blessed water trickled from the sand. 
A few lost men, we followed still each trace 
Of savage or of beast, — at every turn 
We thought to see the golden city stand. 

Alone, at last, I crept into the narrow mouth 
Of a great canyon, struggling madly with 
Its tangled scrub, and there I found the thing 
We sought, the tomb of far-famed Cibola! 



Within the rocky canyon's side was built 
The dwelling of some vanished race. No sign 
Of life was in the silent place; no gold 
In heaped-up store, only rude implements 
Of stone, a few dried grains of yellow maize 

Upon the floor 

In rage I stumbled on until I came 
Upon a cave where sunken pots of clay 
Adorned ivith feathers, stood in solemn roiv; 
'Now for the gold!' I cried, and overturned 
The smallest in my way. A feiv dried bones, 
A tiny skull, some clumsy playthings 
Rattled out with aivful thud. 

My blood 
That late had surged ivith angry heat, ran cold 
And froze within me at the sight I saiu: 
Beside the buriel-pots a woman crouched, 
Unburied and alone, no hand to soothe 
Her last death-agony, no child to bring 
The food and water to her side, no mate 
To lay her shrunken form away — herself 
The last of all her ivorld .... 
Still watching for a footsetp at the door — 

I turned and fled from the accursed spot, 
Friends, I have seen the WOMAN GOD FORGOT!" 



The "parson" bowed his head and spoke no more, 
The fire burned low, and still the haunting howl 
Of hungry coyotes pierced the chilly air; 
In silent reverie they sat, the spell 
Of that dead woman on them still. 

Next day, a band of friendly Cherokees 

Came up with gifts of fresh-killed antelope, 

In token of good-will. By pipes and beads 

Beguiled, they lingered with the caravan. 

But there were some who shook their grizzled heads 

And muttered, sullen, underneath their breath. 

Of treacherous guides and wanton massacre; 

And then they spoke of Humana again, 

How as he slept, the red men lit the circle 

Dread, of flame, about his helpless camp; 

And only one escaped that holocaust. 

And he, by strategy of Indian maid. 

These murmurs reached the v/atchful leader's ear 
And led to council round the evening fire. 



Thus Russell spoke: "The Indians know the way, 

They know the springs, the treacherous river-beds, 

They know the mountain-trails, the gulches where 

The nuggets big as hailstones lie — " 

(*0r punkins, sir,' a hopeful Kansan cried.) 

"Who knows what treachery Humana first 

To red man showed, what spark of hate he lit 

To kindle his own funeral-pyre? No fear 

Have I of red man, unbetrayed, in short, 

The Cherokees shall stay!" 

Right cunningly. 
Of their red comrades, day by day, they sought 
Some clue to hidden gold, picking up along 
Their path the shining stones, then holding up 
A well-filled pipe, as pay for such. 

At length 
The purple shoulders of the mountain heaved 
From out the tedious plain, kindling their eyes 
With glad expectancy. 

An Indian youth 
Sped on before, spurring his fleet mustang 
Toward the distant hills. Two days they travelled 
Ere the brave returned and sought the tall white chief. 
With great delight, a yellow aspen leaf 
He showed, by summer's alchemy too soon 
Transmuted into gold. 

"Plenty, plenty gold, 
Soon the Great Spirit make upon the hills!" 
He cried. 

Then all the gladness in him died 
At their contemptuous smile. 

The red men smoked 
About their council-fire till late that night 
And with the morning brought "Four-fingered Joe," 
A half-breed who could speak the white man's tongue. 
The old chief squatted by the fire and spoke. 
And thus '"Four-Fingered Joe" interpreted: 

*'The white man ever cries for gold, more gold, 
That word the first the redman learn to speak; 
Gold the Great Spirit gives, he values not. 
Nor for the gold of ripened maize he seeks. 
But he would rend the shivering mountain's heart 
To find the demon-gold hid deep. 



This, then, 
The red men say: 

Two sleeps the mountains lie 
Away. The red man may not go to demon-gold 
But he luill point the way." 

The old chief rose and silent stood as if 

In doubt or grief; in sudden passion, then, 

He raised his arms and swayed to rhythmic chant: 

"^ hear the Great Spirit, 

He mutters in anger. 

The stormrcloud He mounts. 

His breath goes before Him, 

The trees bend and sivay : 

He seizes his boiv 

And His great glearning arrorv, 

The rock's heart He smites. 

''Go, follow the' dart 

From the bow of the Spirit, 

The angry Great Spirit 

Who rides on the storm; 

There shall the gold 

Of the demon lie bare; 

The wrath of the Smiter is on it, 

Beware!" .... 

In silence, grim, the Cherokees mounted 

And rode away 

The Georgians and the Kansans panned the streams 

Between them and the range; the Fountain 

And the Platte; a few small grains of glittering dust 

For guerdon of their toil. Far as the eye 

Could see the solitary plains were set 

To purple harmonies and many a tuft 

Of grass a crown of creamy yucca wore. 

But they were men of purpose, stern, and came 

Not there to dream in mountain majesties; 

And ever as the flakes of gold eluded still 

Their touch, the men grew restive, spoke 

Of home and women waiting for them there. 

By Cherry Creek a Kansan spoke his mind. 

"There is no gold in this vile land," he said, 
A country fit for coyotes or for Injun breed; 
These barren plains can never feed a man 
Nor pay his sweat with bread!" 



At dawn, 
A score of disappointed men rode to the south. 

The few who still remained toiled on, ranging 

The creeks on either hand with feverish haste; 

With eyes that noted not the blossoms crushed 

Beneath their feet ; with ears that hearkened not 

To soaring meadow-lark, or her alarm 

At jarring human voice within that solitude. 

But not one nugget in their pans at night 

Bade hope live on. With patient eyes that spoke 

Dumb question, still they looked to him who led 

Their quest, then laid them down to troubled sleep. 

The warm June night slept silently and fair, 
God's peace upon it like a mantle laid, 
The great range brooded, watchful and aware 
Of mystic shifting shadows o'er it played. 

Before the dying fire Russell bowed. 
In agony of thought as deep as prayer. 
And through the depths of that dark cloud 
Of anguished doubt, he caught a vision fair: 

He ea»#it the Pale-Face Gold, a phantom, glide 
Through many a gulch and hidden dell. 
But as she fled, her yellow cloak spread wide 
And on the barren plains it fell; 
He saw a city rise with mart and spire, 
Where teeming life passed swiftly to and fro, 
He saw the waters flow by man's desire 
To feed the fertile plains below. 

The fire died; the faithful few slept on. 

Now Russell rose and faced the kindling dawn; 

The peaks caught up a hint of rosy gleam. 

And blushed through all their sparkling veils of snow; 

Around him played dim phantoms of his waking dream. 

With many a grimace, now, and muttered oath, 
By sun's first rays aroused, the men awoke 
And saw their leader standing, silent, loth 
To break the spell of mystery upon him laid 
By that night's phantasy. 

'*We stay" he said, 
"// only one will hear me company T* 



The red man's gold still on the aspen gleams, 

The white man's gold is washed from shifting sand, 

And over all that once forsaken land 

The Spirit-gold of ripened grain nov/ streams. 

A city stands with sunlit dome and spire. 

Fair gleaner with her golden sheaves complete, 

Like Ruth, she nestles at the mountain's feet; 

As Russell saw her by his dying fire, 

The night his troubled soul found hope and peace. 

And saw, afar, the winning of the fleece. 

Woman's Club, Colorado Springs, 

Mrs. L. a. Miller. 



Beauty for Ashes 



Beauty for ashes: 'tis a gracious gift 

To world-worn hearts by grief and care bent dov/n, 
Crushed by despair and hatred's sullen frown. 

Our spirits quicken with a great uplift 

When faith presents the garland to our eyes 
And bids us wear it, even now and here. 
Taking life lightly, smiling through our fear. 

Looking for joy in every vain disguise. 

Beauty of spring's soft rain and summer skies, 

Beauty of autumn flame and winter streams, 
Beauty of word and deed and children's eyes 

Beauty of life and death — prophetic dreams 
Of wind-flung ashes from the sad world shed. 
And Beauty's crown triumphant on its head. 

City Federation, Colorado Springs. 
Miss Fonetta Flansrurg. 



Vhen Sara Comes 

(To Sarah Sabina McFall) 

When Sara comes into the room 
She brings the sense of summer skies 
And fragrant drifting clover-bloom; 
And joy, like dancing butterflies 
Lights soft within the tired eyes. 

When Sara comes. 
Gone, all at once, all thought of gloom 
E'en Fate goes smiling to his loom 
And slyly weaves a sweet surprise. 

When Sara comes. 

Mrs. L. a. Miller. 



The Mvsterv of Mind 



Science traces man's ascent from primordeal cell, 
And learnedly proclaim -ng the powers that impel — 
Familiar with the forces that govern earth's domain, 
Has even sought the secrets of the heavens to explain. 
Not all the wealth of knowledge of sage and seer combined 
May solve life's greatest problem — "the mystery of mind." 
Nor can the mighty forces with which the world is rife, 
Keveal arcana of the soul, or tell us what is life. 

The brain is heaven's dynamo, within the human mold, 
And here alone may heaven's truth, to human life unfold; 
From out its countless corridors what myriad thoughts arise. 
Seeking to compass earth and heaven, beyond the realm of skies; 
Striving to know the Infinite — to comprehend the plan 
That governs all the world of space and reigns supreme in man. 
As earth is the foundation on which creature life may rest. 
So the brain is the receptacle for all that makes man blest. 

All of purity and peace, of happiness and love; 

All that finite man may know of the Infinite above; 

All that molds the life of man in image of his God; 

All that lifts humanity above the senseless clod. 

Love and wisdom, living forces, heaven's heat and light, 

Luminating mental darkness, dissipating night. 

These indeed are mighty magnets, lifting up the soul 

Far beyond disease and death, to life's higher goal. 

Only in perverted good is love consuming fire; 

Only blindest falsity does truth fail to inspire. 

Sin is violation of divinely given law — 

Disease can only enter where sin has left a flaw. 

In seeking resurrection to new and higher life, 

Alleviating suffering, disease and pain and strife. 

We must destroy this monster within whose slimy fold 

The germs of greed and selfishness their forms of evil hold. 

The Great Physician, while on earth, and doing good alway, 

Gave sight to blinded eyes of man, anointing them with clay; 

Thus using earth's material to teach us application 

Of nature's potent remedy for Nature's restoration. 

We may not know her forces, or comprehend her laws. 

Nor even may we yet explain the great dynamic cause. 

But if we yield obedience to heaven's wiser power. 

From out affliction's gloomy clouds will richest blessings shower. 



The universe has no new law from human mind evolved, 

By means of heaven's search-light life's mysteries are solved; 

Whenever man is ready for higher revelation, 

The Lord prepares the medium for his emancipation. 

A master mind arises from out the darkened night, 

To bear aloft to suffering man a shining beacon light. 

Though buried in the ashes of falsity and doubt. 

Eternal truths of heaven must soon or late shine out. 



"I was blind, but now I see," is human declaration; 

So every truth like leaves of trees for healing of the nation. 

Comes to our blinded eyes, and we proclaim that truth as new. 

Which was from all eternity to everlasting true. 

As gold and silver of the earth which human toil discovers, 

So heaven's riches may be found beyond the cloud that hovers. 

If with a pure and honest heart we live the truth to knov^r. 

For only in the life of good can heaven's blessings flow. 

'Tis not enough that we in thought should soar to realms of bliss- 
Unmindful of the kindly deed, what joys we often miss! 
Every life is woven close with the life of every other ; 
The Lord of heaven our Father is, and every man our brother. 
We cannot live a selfish life and find a lasting pleasure. 
For heaven's benedictions are fitted to our measure. 
Humanity is as a man on whom affliction falls. 
No part can ever be destroyed without affecting all. 

And when the mind is clouded with malady of sin, 

Till scarce one little ray of light can penetrate within. 

All life's generating forces pure from the fountain head, 

Men perverts to his destruction, choosing death instead. 

Diseases of the human mind in all their varied forms, 

Are but outward demonstration of spiritual storms 

Of evil and of falsity, destroying life's frail bark, 

Because we will not seek the light that leads us to the ark. 

It seems a mystery sublime, no earthly power may solve. 

How from this mental chaos shall higher life evolve. 

God created Nature's temple, and gave to man the key. 

With this solemn declaration — "the truth shall make you free." 

In vain we grasp the forces of scientific thought. 

If the living truth be wanting, these forces count for naught; 

And only when man chooses that love and wisdom reign, 

Can earth be free from sorrow, from suffering and pain. 



How zealously we strive to guard this bit of human clay, 

Employing every effort to save it from decay. 

'Tis but the cast-off garment we put away from sight, 

The worn-out habitation whence loved ones take their flight 

From mortal forms that held them bound in sorrow, pain and strife; 

Beyond the shoals and shadows of this meager earthly life. 

Into God's eternal sunshine, where in light unfettered, free, 

Our dear ones wait to welcome us to love's eternity. 

'Tis well to guard this temple so oft with danger fraught, 

But wiser yet to cleanse the life's affection and its thought; 

For only in perverted life disease can find its food, 

Since every form of evil is but perverted good. 

The will and understanding are attributes of mind. 

But if they are distorted, man's reason then is blind; 

And when by some strange fantasy he slays his fellow man, 

We truly say insanity has placed him under ban. 

But every human being who causes needless pain. 

May also truthfully be classed with him who is insane. 

Envy, bickerings and malice, with all the ills that grovel. 

Create the mind's bacteria and make its home a hovel. 

The material bacilli from which we shrink in terror, 

Are thought by some to be the cause, while others note the error, 

And see in these small microbes disease's dread effect. 

Caused by the mind's corruption from spiritual neglect. 

Material creation, in God's eternal plan, 

Can never be the cause of malady in man. 

Causes are eternal, and beyond our mental ken, 

Effects are of creation, and ever thus have been. 

Have you not watched the crystal stream, pure from the mountain flow, 

Then followed on its winding course to depths far, far below, 

Where mighty raging torrent with destruction in its path, 

Seemed like some living monster, exulting in its wrath? 

Though we may not stay the current at its far distant source, 
We can renovate the channel through which its waters course; 
Thus may the ever living stream flow peacefully and calm, 
When life's temple has been cleansed by love's pure- healing balm. 
When planted in the garden by Eden's peaceful stream, 
Surrounded by the hallowed light of love's celestial beam, 
Man was happy in his haven till selfishness crept in. 
But good can have no dwelling place with selfishness and sin. 



When self-love holds the citadel with all its evil train, 

Why wonder that affliction, disease and death should reign? 

Eather let us wonder that we harbor such a guest. 

To steal away our peace of mind — our paradise of rest. 

And yet the good predominates, though human eyes may trace 

Great scars and deep afflictions on Nature's smiling face; 

For man is not all evil, and mind not all corrupt. 

From the truth's attenuations has nature often supped. 

If from the higher potencies we love to come and drink. 

The time will come when there will be no ill from which to shrink; 

And the fruitage in the garden of the blessed promised land. 

Will far transcend our highest thought, and all our visions grand. 

We say the mind is that which lives when earth-life is no more; 

But we do seek most earnestly her palaces to store 

With the precious goods and truths our Father waits to give, 

As foretaste of the future life, to teach us how to live? 

A glimpse we get of paradise beyond earth's misty maze. 

When from this prison-house of clay the soul attuned to praise 

Unites with the angelic throng at life's celestial shrine, 

In singing love's triumphant song of harmony divine. 

When from the heights we vision the land of perfect day, 

The glories of eternity seem not so far away. 

To find the life immortal, our true and only guide 

Must be the ever living God — in Him we must abide. 

The loved ones who have left us and journeyed on before 

Are waiting for our coming, just beyond the open door 

In God's celestial garden of beauty and of truth, 

Where age, transplanted, grows again to everlasting youth. 

When we have crossed the border beyond the bars of time. 

Then shall we know and understand the mystery sublime. 

And join the great redemption song where love's delight is pure, 

For all the ills of human life heaven holds the law of cure. 

Woman's Club of Denver, 

Dr. Lillian Pollock. 



Colorado in October 



There's a whispered rustle, rustle in the depths of woodland trees, 
And a softly murmured chorus from the sylvan green of leaves. 
For the elves with brush and palette swing their strokes with 

vigorous skill, 
Touching some with softest colors, splotching others with a will, 
For each tree must add its quota to the beauty brimming over 
In the mountain, field and valley — Colorado in October. 

The quaking aspens tremble in an attitude supine 
As they flaunt their wealth of yellow to the somber of the pine, 
And the sides of sloping mountains are like Joseph's coat of old, 
With their many colored patches of the red and brown and gold, 
And the purple of the daisy's fringe the streamlets bubbling over 
With the wine of Autumn gladness — Colorado in October. 

Shaggy grain stacks in the valley look like nuggets of pure gold, 
And the brown of earth's fall ploughing falls in furrows fold on fold. 
While the lakes like sparkling sapphires call the wild ducks there 

to rest. 
And the clouds are flying white doves, nestling on the mountain's 

crest, 
While belated summer hare-bell rings its chimes to nodding clover, 
Oh, there's spice in Nature's music — Colorado in October. 

Winter-capped the snowy ranges glisten 'gainst the azure sky, 
Flinging back a proud defiance to the cloud-birds floating by. 
And the purple mists are draping all the hills in shadow light. 
While the brown and gold of valleys feel its veil upon their sight. 
And the sunset's crimson fingers, drawing evening shadows over. 
Drape a starry curtain 'round us — Colorado in October. 

Daughters of Colorado, Denver, 

Ruth Lees Olson. 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




